


Too Late

by Quicksilver_ink



Series: The Order of the Garter [2]
Category: Suikoden III
Genre: Gen, Humor, Not What It Looks Like
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-03-26
Updated: 2003-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-21 12:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 733
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/225358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Quicksilver_ink/pseuds/Quicksilver_ink





	Too Late

It was a little before noon when Percival arrived at Brass Castle. It had been almost two years since he'd ridden down the stone bridge, farewells echoing in his ears, that now took him back to the fortress. Two years of peace passing lazily by in a town on the edge of the Grasslands. Except for patches of new shingles or scarred boards, it was hard to imagine war in a place like Iksay.

It had come as something of a shock, when the letter arrived summoning him back to the knighthood. News took a long time to reach a town so isolated as Iksay, and the fighting was with Tinto, far to the south. And there had been things to finish before he could leave, arrangements to make. With no way of knowing how the war was going, all he could do was pray that his comrades could do without him for a while longer.

So it was not without a bit of worry that he rode into the stone fortress. Soldiers and citizens scurried about busily, but with a grim air. No groom came forward to take his mount to the stable. Percival didn't mind that – he preferred to see to his horse himself, when he could – but it was a sign that something was amiss.

A greater cause for concern was that no senior officer had come to greet him. Not even Borus, who he considered a close friend. Not even the captain. Surely word of his return had reached them by now, if they were anywhere in Brass Castle. A maid nervously suggested he try the salon, and fled as soon as he thanked her.

Percival trudged up the stairs with a frown. The hallway was strongly empty – not even a guard stood outside the captain's quarters. After uncharacteristic hesitation, he opened the door to the salon.

The scene within made him stop in his tracks. Although the sun was high outside, the curtains were drawn, and the light that streamed through them was weak and blued, casting the room in an odd mix of form and shadow, darkening the still figures of his friends. He'd been too late, as he'd feared - a battle had taken place here only the night before. Five of the Six Mighty Knights had fought, and lost – for their foe was neither human nor mortal.

A pair of stained gloves on the table and an absence of Roland indicated that the elf had known himself to be outmatched, and retreated. The massive Leo lay sprawled in an armchair, his mouth hanging agape, as if he hadn't expected to be defeated so easily. Trays and plates of crumbs were scattered about the carnage, resting atop and beside precarious piles of paperwork and ledger books.

Borus was stretched out on the couch, one arm hanging limply to the ground. He'd known the end was near; his empty boots stood at attention near the foot of the couch, a mute testament to the man Percival had known as both friend and rival. A ledger-book lay open on his chest – Borus had fought to the last. Louis, too, had taken part in the grisly battle, although he was still only a squire. He was slouched at the base of the wall, a half-eaten sandwich to his right and a spilled bottle of ink and splattered papers to his left.

The captain and Salome had both fallen where they'd fought, as befitted the two most senior officers. Side-by-side, toppled faces-forward on the table, where they had been was where the battle had been thickest. Remarkably, the piles of papers were mostly neat, although one had been pushed off the table – no doubt when the strategist had succumbed.

A faint, regular whistle emanated from Chris Lightfellow's still form. There was an answering snore from Borus, and Percival laughed. Chris stirred at the sound and sat up, blinking blearily.

"Oh, good morning, Percival. Welcome back. What time is it?" A few lines of backward writing were imprinted on her left cheek; she'd fallen asleep before the ink had dried.

"Thank you, Lady Chris. It's good to be back," Percival said with a half-bow. "It was just before noon when I arrived. I haven't been here that long."

"Noon? It's that late," a yawn assaulted her mid-sentence. "It's that late already? Dratted paperwork, I could've sworn it was hours yet until dawn."


End file.
